No Name

W >> Wilkie Collins >> No Name


"Pardon me," replied the incorrigible Wragge. "You want a little
instruction; and I am the man to give it you."

With that answer, he placed a chair for her, and proceeded to explain
himself.

She sat down in silence. A sullen indifference began to show itself in
her manner; her cheeks turned pale again; and her eyes looked wearily
vacant at the wall before her. Captain Wragge noticed these signs of
heart-sickness and discontent with herself, after the effort she had
made, and saw the importance of rousing her by speaking, for once,
plainly and directly to the point. She had set a new value on herself in
his mercenary eyes. She had suggested to him a speculation in her
youth, her beauty, and her marked ability for the stage, which had never
entered his mind until he saw her act. The old militia-man was quick at
his shifts. He and his plans had both turned right about together when
Magdalen sat down to hear what he had to say.

"Mr. Huxtable's opinion is my opinion," he began. "You are a born
actress. But you must be trained before you can do anything on the
stage. I am disengaged--I am competent--I have trained others--I can
train you. Don't trust my word: trust my eye to my own interests. I'll
make it my interest to take pains with you, and to be quick about it.
You shall pay me for my instructions from your profits on the stage.
Half your salary for the first year; a third of your salary for the
second year; and half the sum you clear by your first benefit in a
London theater. What do you say to that? Have I made it my interest to
push you, or have I not?"

So far as appearances went, and so far as the stage went, it was plain
that he had linked his interests and Magdalen's together. She briefly
told him so, and waited to hear more.

"A month or six weeks' study," continued the captain, "will give me a
reasonable idea of what you can do best. All ability runs in grooves;
and your groove remains to be found. We can't find it here--for we can't
keep you a close prisoner for weeks together in Rosemary Lane. A quiet
country place, secure from all interference and interruption, is the
place we want for a month certain. Trust my knowledge of Yorkshire, and
consider the place found. I see no difficulties anywhere, except the
difficulty of beating our retreat to-morrow."

"I thought your arrangements were made last night?" said Magdalen.

"Quite right," rejoined the captain. "They were made last night; and
here they are. We can't leave by railway, because the lawyer's clerk is
sure to be on the lookout for you at the York terminus. Very good; we
take to the road instead, and leave in our own carriage. Where the deuce
do we get it? We get it from the landlady's brother, who has a horse
and chaise which he lets out for hire. That chaise comes to the end of
Rosemary Lane at an early hour to-morrow morning. I take my wife and
my niece out to show them the beauties of the neighborhood. We have a
picnic hamper with us, which marks our purpose in the public eye. You
disfigure yourself in a shawl, bonnet, and veil of Mrs. Wragge's; we
turn our backs on York; and away we drive on a pleasure trip for the
day--you and I on the front seat, Mrs. Wragge and the hamper behind.
Good again. Once on the highroad, what do we do? Drive to the first
station beyond York, northward, southward, or eastward, as may be
hereafter determined. No lawyer's clerk is waiting for you there.
You and Mrs. Wragge get out--first opening the hamper at a convenient
opportunity. Instead of containing chickens and Champagne, it contains
a carpet-bag, with the things you want for the night. You take your
tickets for a place previously determined on, and I take the chaise back
to York. Arrived once more in this house, I collect the luggage left
behind, and send for the woman downstairs. 'Ladies so charmed with such
and such a place (wrong place of course), that they have determined to
stop there. Pray accept the customary week's rent, in place of a week's
warning. Good day.' Is the clerk looking for me at the York terminus?
Not he. I take my ticket under his very nose; I follow you with the
luggage along your line of railway--and where is the trace left of your
departure? Nowhere. The fairy has vanished; and the legal authorities
are left in the lurch."

"Why do you talk of difficulties?" asked Magdalen. "The difficulties
seem to be provided for."

"All but ONE," said Captain Wragge, with an ominous emphasis on the
last word. "The Grand Difficulty of humanity from the cradle to the
grave--Money." He slowly winked his green eye; sighed with deep feeling;
and buried his insolvent hands in his unproductive pockets.

"What is the money wanted for?" inquired Magdalen.

"To pay my bills," replied the captain, with a touching simplicity.
"Pray understand! I never was--and never shall be--personally desirous
of paying a single farthing to any human creature on the habitable
globe. I am speaking in your interest, not in mine."

"My interest?"

"Certainly. You can't get safely away from York to-morrow without the
chaise. And I can't get the chaise without money. The landlady's brother
will lend it if he sees his sister's bill receipted, and if he gets his
day's hire beforehand--not otherwise. Allow me to put the transaction
in a business light. We have agreed that I am to be remunerated for my
course of dramatic instruction out of your future earnings on the stage.
Very good. I merely draw on my future prospects; and you, on whom those
prospects depend, are naturally my banker. For mere argument's sake,
estimate my share in your first year's salary at the totally inadequate
value of a hundred pounds. Halve that sum; quarter that sum--"

"How much do you want?" said Magdalen, impatiently.

Captain Wragge was sorely tempted to take the Reward at the top of
the handbills as his basis of calculation. But he felt the vast future
importance of present moderation; and actually wanting some twelve
or thirteen pounds, he merely doubled the amount, and said,
"Five-and-twenty."

Magdalen took the little bag from her bosom, and gave him the money,
with a contemptuous wonder at the number of words which he had wasted on
her for the purpose of cheating on so small a scale. In the old days at
Combe-Raven, five-and-twenty pounds flowed from a stroke of her father's
pen into the hands of any one in the house who chose to ask for it.

Captain Wragge's eyes dwelt on the little bag as the eyes of lovers
dwell on their mistresses. "Happy bag!" he murmured, as she put it back
in her bosom. He rose; dived into a corner of the room; produced
his neat dispatch-box; and solemnly unlocked it on the table between
Magdalen and himself.

"The nature of the man, my dear girl--the nature of the man," he said,
opening one of his plump little books bound in calf and vellum. "A
transaction has taken place between us. I must have it down in black and
white." He opened the book at a blank page, and wrote at the top, in
a fine mercantile hand: _"Miss Vanstone, the Younger: In account with
Horatio Wragge, late o f the Royal Militia. Dr.--Cr. Sept. 24th, 1846.
Dr.: To estimated value of H. Wragge's interest in Miss V.'s first
year's salary--say--200 pounds. Cr. By paid on account, 25 pounds."_
Having completed the entry--and having also shown, by doubling his
original estimate on the Debtor side, that Magdalen's easy compliance
with his demand on her had not been thrown away on him--the captain
pressed his blotting-paper over the wet ink, and put away the book
with the air of a man who had done a virtuous action, and who was above
boasting about it.

"Excuse me for leaving you abruptly," he said. "Time is of importance;
I must make sure of the chaise. If Mrs. Wragge comes in, tell her
nothing--she is not sharp enough to be trusted. If she presumes to ask
questions, extinguish her immediately. You have only to be loud. Pray
take my authority into your own hands, and be as loud with Mrs. Wragge
as I am!" He snatched up his tall hat, bowed, smiled, and tripped out of
the room.

Sensible of little else but of the relief of being alone; feeling no
more distinct impression than the vague sense of some serious change
having taken place in herself and her position, Magdalen let the events
of the morning come and go like shadows on her mind, and waited wearily
for what the day might bring forth. After the lapse of some time, the
door opened softly. The giant figure of Mrs. Wragge stalked into the
room, and stopped opposite Magdalen in solemn astonishment.

"Where are your Things?" asked Mrs. Wragge, with a burst of
incontrollable anxiety. "I've been upstairs looking in your drawers.
Where are your night-gowns and night-caps? and your petticoats and
stockings? and your hair-pins and bear's grease, and all the rest of
it?"

"My luggage is left at the railway station," said Magdalen.

Mrs. Wragge's moon-face brightened dimly. The ineradicable female
instinct of Curiosity tried to sparkle in her faded blue eyes--flickered
piteously--and died out.

"How much luggage?" she asked, confidentially. "The captain's gone out.
Let's go and get it!"

"Mrs. Wragge!" cried a terrible voice at the door.

For the first time in Magdalen's experience, Mrs. Wragge was deaf to the
customary stimulant. She actually ventured on a feeble remonstrance in
the presence of her husband.

"Oh, do let her have her Things!" pleaded Mrs. Wragge. "Oh, poor soul,
do let her have her Things!"

The captain's inexorable forefinger pointed to a corner of the
room--dropped slowly as his wife retired before it--and suddenly stopped
at the region of her shoes.

"Do I hear a clapping on the floor!" exclaimed Captain Wragge, with an
expression of horror. "Yes; I do. Down at heel again! The left shoe
this time. Pull it up, Mrs. Wragge! pull it up!--The chaise will be here
to-morrow morning at nine o'clock," he continued, addressing Magdalen.
"We can't possibly venture on claiming your box. There is note-paper.
Write down a list of the necessaries you want. I will take it myself
to the shop, pay the bill for you, and bring back the parcel. We must
sacrifice the box--we must, indeed."

While her husband was addressing Magdalen, Mrs. Wragge had stolen out
again from her corner, and had ventured near enough to the captain to
hear the words "shop" and "parcel." She clapped her great hands
together in ungovernable excitement, and lost all control over herself
immediately.

"Oh, if it's shopping, let me do it!" cried Mrs. Wragge. "She's going
out to buy her Things! Oh, let me go with her--please let me go with
her!"

"Sit down!" shouted the captain. "Straight! more to the right--more
still. Stop where you are!"

Mrs. Wragge crossed her helpless hands on her lap, and melted meekly
into tears.

"I do so like shopping," pleaded the poor creature; "and I get so little
of it now!"

Magdalen completed her list; and Captain Wragge at once left the room
with it. "Don't let my wife bore you," he said, pleasantly, as he went
out. "Cut her short, poor soul--cut her short!"

"Don't cry," said Magdalen, trying to comfort Mrs. Wragge by patting her
on the shoulder. "When the parcel comes back you shall open it."

"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Wragge, meekly, drying her eyes; "thank
you kindly. Don't notice my handkerchief, please. It's such a very
little one! I had a nice lot of them once, with lace borders. They're
all gone now. Never mind! It will comfort me to unpack your Things.
You're very good to me. I like you. I say--you won't be angry, will you?
Give us a kiss."

Magdalen stooped over her with the frank grace and gentleness of past
days, and touched her faded cheek. "Let me do something harmless!" she
thought, with a pang at her heart--"oh let me do something innocent and
kind for the sake of old times!"

She felt her eyes moistening, and silently turned away.

That night no rest came to her. That night the roused forces of Good
and Evil fought their terrible fight for her soul--and left the strife
between them still in suspense when morning came. As the clock of York
Minster struck nine, she followed Mrs. Wragge to the chaise, and took
her seat by the captain's side. In a quarter of an hour more York was
in the distance, and the highroad lay bright and open before them in the
morning sunlight.

THE END OF THE SECOND SCENE.




BETWEEN THE SCENES.

CHRONICLE OF EVENTS: PRESERVED IN CAPTAIN WRAGGE'S DISPATCH-BOX.

I.

_Chronicle for October, 1846._

I HAVE retired into the bosom of my family. We are residing in the
secluded village of Ruswarp, on the banks of the Esk, about two miles
inland from Whitby. Our lodgings are comfortable, and we possess the
additional blessing of a tidy landlady. Mrs. Wragge and Miss Vanstone
preceded me here, in accordance with the plan I laid down for effecting
our retreat from York. On the next day I followed them alone, with the
luggage. On leaving the terminus, I had the satisfaction of seeing the
lawyer's clerk in close confabulation with the detective officer whose
advent I had prophesied. I left him in peaceable possession of the city
of York, and the whole surrounding neighborhood. He has returned the
compliment, and has left us in peaceable possession of the valley of the
Esk, thirty miles away from him.

Remarkable results have followed my first efforts at the cultivation of
Miss Vanstone's dramatic abilities.

I have discovered that she possesses extraordinary talent as a mimic.
She has the flexible face, the manageable voice, and the dramatic knack
which fit a woman for character-parts and disguises on the stage. All
she now wants is teaching and practice, to make her sure of her own
resources. The experience of her, thus gained, has revived an idea in
my mind which originally occurred to me at one of the "At Homes" of the
late inimitable Charles Mathews, comedian. I was in the Wine Trade at
the time, I remember. We imitated the Vintage-processes of Nature in
a back-kitchen at Brompton, and produced a dinner-sherry, pale and
curious, tonic in character, round in the mouth, a favorite with
the Court of Spain, at nineteen-and-sixpence a dozen, bottles
included--_Vide_ Prospectus of the period. The profits of myself and
partners were small; we were in advance of the tastes of the age, and
in debt to the bottle merchant. Being at my wits' end for want of money,
and seeing what audiences Mathews drew, the idea occurred to me of
starting an imitation of the great Imitator himself, in the shape of an
"At Home," given by a woman. The one trifling obstacle in the way was
the difficulty of finding the woman. From that time to this, I have
hitherto failed to overcome it. I have conquered it at last; I have
found the woman now. Miss Vanstone possesses youth and beauty as well
as talent. Train her in the art of dramatic disguise; provide her
with appropriate dresses for different characters; develop her
accomplishments in singing and playing; give her plenty of smart talk
addressed to the audience; advertise her as a Young Lady at Home;
astonish the public by a dramatic entertainment which depends from
first to last on that young lady's own sole exertions; commit the entire
management of the t hing to my care--and what follows as a necessary
con sequence? Fame for my fair relative, and a fortune for myself.

I put these considerations, as frankly as usual, to Miss Vanstone;
offering to write the Entertainment, to manage all the business, and to
share the profits. I did not forget to strengthen my case by informing
her of the jealousies she would encounter, and the obstacles she would
meet, if she went on the stage. And I wound up by a neat reference to
the private inquiries which she is interested in making, and to the
personal independence which she is desirous of securing before she acts
on her information. "If you go on the stage," I said, "your services
will be bought by a manager, and he may insist on his claims just at the
time when you want to get free from him. If, on the contrary, you adopt
my views, you will be your own mistress and your own manager, and
you can settle your course just as you like." This last consideration
appeared to strike her. She took a day to consider it; and, when the day
was over, gave her consent.

I had the whole transaction down in black and white immediately. Our
arrangement is eminently satisfactory, except in one particular.
She shows a morbid distrust of writing her name at the bottom of any
document which I present to her, and roundly declares she will sign
nothing. As long as it is her interest to provide herself with pecuniary
resources for the future, she verbally engages to go on. When it ceases
to be her interest, she plainly threatens to leave off at a week's
notice. A difficult girl to deal with; she has found out her own value
to me already. One comfort is, I have the cooking of the accounts; and
my fair relative shall not fill her pockets too suddenly if I can help
it.

My exertions in training Miss Vanstone for the coming experiment have
been varied by the writing of two anonymous letters in that young lady's
interests. Finding her too fidgety about arranging matters with her
friends to pay proper attention to my instructions, I wrote anonymously
to the lawyer who is conducting the inquiry after her, recommending him,
in a friendly way, to give it up. The letter was inclosed to a friend
of mine in London, with instructions to post it at Charing Cross. A week
later I sent a second letter, through the same channel, requesting the
lawyer to inform me, in writing, whether he and his clients had or had
not decided on taking my advice. I directed him, with jocose reference
to the collision of interests between us, to address his letter: "Tit
for Tat, Post-office, West Strand."

In a few days the answer arrived--privately forwarded, of course, to
Post-office, Whitby, by arrangement with my friend in London.

The lawyer's reply was short and surly: "SIR--If my advice had been
followed, you and your anonymous letter would both be treated with the
contempt which they deserve. But the wishes of Miss Magdalen Vanstone's
eldest sister have claims on my consideration which I cannot dispute;
and at her entreaty I inform you that all further proceedings on my part
are withdrawn--on the express understanding that this concession is
to open facilities for written communication, at least, between the two
sisters. A letter from the elder Miss Vanstone is inclosed in this. If I
don't hear in a week's time that it has been received, I shall place the
matter once more in the hands of the police.--WILLIAM PENDRIL." A
sour man, this William Pendril. I can only say of him what an eminent
nobleman once said of his sulky servant--"I wouldn't have such a temper
as that fellow has got for any earthly consideration that could be
offered me!"

As a matter of course, I looked into the letter which the lawyer
inclosed, before delivering it. Miss Vanstone, the elder, described
herself as distracted at not hearing from her sister; as suited with a
governess's situation in a private family; as going into the situation
in a week's time; and as longing for a letter to comfort her, before
she faced the trial of undertaking her new duties. After closing
the envelope again, I accompanied the delivery of the letter to Miss
Vanstone, the younger, by a word of caution. "Are you more sure of your
own courage now," I said, "than you were when I met you?" She was ready
with her answer. "Captain Wragge, when you met me on the Walls of York I
had not gone too far to go back. I have gone too far now."

If she really feels this--and I think she does--her corresponding with
her sister can do no harm. She wrote at great length the same day;
cried profusely over her own epistolary composition; and was remarkably
ill-tempered and snappish toward me, when we met in the evening. She
wants experience, poor girl--she sadly wants experience of the world.
How consoling to know that I am just the man to give it her!


II.

_Chronicle for November._

We are established at Derby. The Entertainment is written; and the
rehearsals are in steady progress. All difficulties are provided for,
but the one eternal difficulty of money. Miss Vanstone's resources
stretch easily enough to the limits of our personal wants; including
piano-forte hire for practice, and the purchase and making of the
necessary dresses. But the expenses of starting the Entertainment are
beyond the reach of any means we possess. A theatrical friend of
mine here, whom I had hoped to interest in our undertaking, proves,
unhappily, to be at a crisis in his career. The field of human sympathy,
out of which I might have raised the needful pecuniary crop, is closed
to me from want of time to cultivate it. I see no other resource
left--if we are to be ready by Christmas--than to try one of the local
music-sellers in this town, who is said to be a speculating man. A
private rehearsal at these lodgings, and a bargain which will fill
the pockets of a grasping stranger--such are the sacrifices which
dire necessity imposes on me at starting. Well! there is only one
consolation: I'll cheat the music-seller.


III.

_Chronicle for December. First Fortnight._

The music-seller extorts my unwilling respect. He is one of the very few
human beings I have met with in the course of my life who is not to be
cheated. He has taken a masterly advantage of our helplessness; and has
imposed terms on us, for performances at Derby and Nottingham, with such
a business-like disregard of all interests but his own that--fond as I
am of putting things down in black and white--I really cannot prevail
upon myself to record the bargain. It is needless to say, I have yielded
with my best grace; sharing with my fair relative the wretched pecuniary
prospects offered to us. Our turn will come. In the meantime, I
cordially regret not having known the local music-seller in early life.

Personally speaking, I have no cause to complain of Miss Vanstone.
We have arranged that she shall regularly forward her address (at the
post-office) to her friends, as we move about from place to place.
Besides communicating in this way with her sister, she also reports
herself to a certain Mr. Clare, residing in Somersetshire, who is to
forward all letters exchanged between herself and his son. Careful
inquiry has informed me that this latter individual is now in China.
Having suspected from the first that there was a gentleman in the
background, it is highly satisfactory to know that he recedes into the
remote perspective of Asia. Long may he remain there!

The trifling responsibility of finding a name for our talented Magdalen
to perform under has been cast on my shoulders. She feels no interest
whatever in this part of the subject. "Give me any name you like," she
said; "I have as much right to one as to another. Make it yourself."
I have readily consented to gratify her wishes. The resources of my
commercial library include a list of useful names to assume; and we can
choose one at five minutes' notice, when the admirable man of business
who now oppresses us is ready to issue his advertisements. On this point
my mind is easy enough: all my anxieties center in the fair performer.
I have not the least doubt she will do wonders if she is only left to
herself on the first night. But if the day's post is mischievous
enough to upset her by a letter from her sister, I tremble for the
consequences.


IV.

_Chronicle for December. Second Fortnight._

My gifted relative has made her first appearance in public, and has laid
the foundation of our future fortunes.

On the first night the attendance was larger than I had ventured
to hope. The novelty of an evening's entertainment, conducted from
beginning to end by the unaided exertions of a young lady (see
advertisement), roused the public curiosity, and the seats were
moderately well filled. As good luck would have it, no letter addressed
to Miss Vanstone came that day. She was in full possession of herself
until she got the first dress on and heard the bell ring for the music.
At that critical moment she suddenly broke down. I found her alone in
the waiting-room, sobbing, and talking like a child. "Oh, poor papa!
poor papa! Oh, my God, if he saw me now!" My experience in such matters
at once informed me that it was a case of sal-volatile, accompanied by
sound advice. We strung her up in no time to concert pitch; set her eyes
in a blaze; and made her out-blush her own rouge. The curtain rose when
we had got her at a red heat. She dashed at it exactly as she dashed at
it in the back drawing-room at Rosemary Lane. Her personal appearance
settled the question of her reception before she opened her lips. She
rushed full gallop through her changes of character, her songs, and her
dialogue; making mistakes by the dozen, and never stopping to set them
right; carrying the people along with her in a perfect whirlwind, and
never waiting for the applause. The whole thing was over twenty minutes
sooner than the time we had calculated on. She carried it through to the
end, and fainted on the waiting-room sofa a minute after the curtain
was down. The music-seller having taken leave of his senses from sheer
astonishment, and I having no evening costume to appear in, we sent the
doctor to make the necessary apology to the public, who were calling for
her till the place rang again. I prompted our medical orator with a neat
speech from behind the curtain; and I never heard such applause, from
such a comparatively small audience, before in my life. I felt the
tribute--I felt it deeply. Fourteen years ago I scraped together the
wretched means of existence in this very town by reading the newspaper
(with explanatory comments) to the company at a public-house. And now
here I am at the top of the tree.